


I Promise to be True

by Mayhem21



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Romance, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem21/pseuds/Mayhem21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mexico discovers she has a secret admirer just in time for Valentine’s Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Surely no one attending this last minute conference actually wanted to be there.

With two separate regions in two separate countries holding votes on seceding, however, most of Europe was in a tizzy and Spain quickly volunteered to host a meeting to discuss the issue of “strained intranational relations.”

As Mexico rolled her suitcase up to the hotel registration desk and handed over her passport, she found herself yet again trying to figure out why the blasted EU nations had decided to invite North America.

‘One minute they’re yelling at America to stop interfering in their business,’ she grumbled internally, ‘the next they’ll begging him to come help. And this time they’re dragging the rest of us into it!’ Biting back travel-induced irritation, Mexico waved away the aide Spain had sent to assist her. ‘And for the love of all that is holy,’ her mental ruminations continued, ‘when will that fool stop treating me like a child?’

It was a trial most of Spain’s former colonies suffered. While England, France, and other former imperial countries eventually (mostly) acknowledged the independence of their breakaway colonies, the continuously smiling Spaniard continued to dote and tease and smother every nation he had once ruled.

“Ah, good evening, petit.”

Starting, Mexico turned away from the clerk encoding her key card.

“No,” she snapped, eyes darting across the lobby to see if any other nations had appeared while her back was turned. “I’m not dealing with you tonight. Not after twelves hour of planes and airports. Not when it’s almost midnight here. Come back in the morning.” He didn’t move. “Shouldn’t you be off bothering Arthur?” she added in an icy voice. ‘Just go away,’ she silently begged.

France merely smiled and strolled up to lean on the desk next to her.

“I have all week to do that,” he responded, purposely ignoring the rest of her (attempted) dismissal. A relaxed smile spreading across his face. “After all, it is the highlight week for amour.”

“Amo . . . oh, blast.” What terrible timing. She hadn’t even thought . . . “Saint Valentine’s Day is this week,” Mexico sighed.

Spain was going to be unbearable. He had two modes during Valentine's:

1) Chase after [insert former colony here] proclaiming “Boss’s love” (and trying to get a full return on said proclamation) and,

2) Shower Romano with flowers and food while begging him for affection.

“Now I really don’t want to be here,” she groaned.

“Ms. Reyes?” the clerk interrupted, his voice soft. He held out the small envelope with her keycard. “Room 308. Please let us know if we can make your stay any more comfortable.”

Lips pressed together, she took the cards and started to turn away after offering a brief “Thank you.”

“Ah, Ms. Reyes? This was left for you.”

She turned back.

The clerk reaching under the desk then emerged, holding out a single flower, its long stem wrapped in a damp cloth.

Her breath caught in her throat, Mexico turned back and took the flower. Its petals were bright pink with white edging, flecked and striped with yellow accents.

“There is a brief message accompanying the gift,” the clerk added, extending a small white card. “We were also asked to leave a vase in your room should you wish to keep the flower.”

Still stunned by the unexpected gift , Mexico released her suitcase and took the card in her other hand. It’s message was simple:

_I hope this Peruvian Lily brings you sweet dreams._

“It appears,” France commented as he retrieved the suitcase now lying on the floor, “you have an admirerer. How exciting.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Mexico entered the conference room the next morning, it was already in chaos. Locating her name tag near the middle of the table, she set down her briefcase and looked around. After taking in the small clusters of arguing nations, she finally spotted Canada standing out of the way near a window and pushed her way through the crowd to join him.

“What’s gone wrong?” she demanded once she reached his side. “This has to be a record, even for us.”

Canada started slightly, unused to personal attention when in Europe, then laughed. 

“Apparently Germany snuck in here this morning to rearrange Spain’s seating assignments.” He grinned. “They were all nice and alphabetical.”

“Naturally.” Mexico shook her head. 

“So when Spain came in this morning to check on things, he swapped his spot with Luxembourg so he’d be next to Romano. Then Sweden moved Finland next to him, France kept invading Cyprus’s personal space until he agreed to switch, and Hungary decided Veneziano needed to sit next to Germany.” He paused, lifting Kumajiro higher in his arms so he could rest his chin on the bear’s sleeping head. “And now Poland and Malta are in negotiations so he can sit next to Lithuania, Estonia keeps trying to convince Romania to swap with him so he can sit next to Finland, Sweden is glaring threateningly at Romania to make sure he doesn’t change, and America is sulking because he’s ended up on the end. 

“On top of all that,” he continued, eyes dancing as he tracked the nations as they moved ‘round and around the long table, “Norway apparently refused at the last minute to watch Sealand so Sweden had to bring him, England’s trying to kick him out but Finland won’t let him, and Romano is still yelling at Spain for sneaking into his room last night to wish him an early Happy Valetine’s Day. Spain, meanwhile, is teasing Germany for changing his original seat assignments and Austria keeps moving away from Hungary, who’s looking extra predatory. I think her ‘yaoi mind’ is in overdrive because of the holiday.”

Mexico stared at the northern nation for a moment, then started snickering. “You always get the best gossip,” she chuckled.

“It’s one of the upsides to the way Europe forgets me,” he laughed. 

The loud roar slowly began to diminished as the invited nations started taking their seats. Spotting the pair by the window, America dropped his notebook and and briefcase at his seat and ran over to join them.

England followed moments later, clearly irritated by the early chaos.

“We’re getting started,” he began in a sharp voice.

"Look, this will take 2 minutes," America interrupted. He waved a hand towards the table. "You go be, ya know, European over there while we take care of important North America business."

"What the hell does that mean?" England groaned and rubbed his temples. "Nevermind, just hurry."

Mexico and Canada watched England retreat to his seat across from America then turned their attention to their noisy neighbor.

"Right, so, quickly," America whispered. "The $1 million question."

"Why are we here?" Mexico suggested. 

"Exactly!" America replied. "Canada?"

"What?" his twin asked in surprise. "Why are you asking me?"

"Uh, because you’re the gossip guy. Plus, you’re more . . . Europe-y. And this is all EU stuff sooooo . . . " America trailed off expectantly. 

"I am not!” Canada hissed. “Anyways, this was your idea!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Wait," Mexico interrupted, "if none of us know why we were invited, why ARE we here?"

The twins were silent.

"Bailout?"

"Shut it," Canada muttered.

Mexico sighed.

“Your two minutes are up!” England suddenly yelled. 

“Meet back here after the break,” America whispered before spinning around and dashing over to his seat at the nearby table end.

Canada and Mexico shared a long suffering look before also leaving the window. 

Upon reaching her assigned seat, Mexico froze. Fury.

“France!” she hollered, spinning to face the languid blonde at the far end of the table. She pointed the the clear glass vase that had been in her room . . . and now held two flowers instead of one.

“Your gift from last night would wilt after spending all day in a dark, empty hotel room.” He smirked and leaned back. Canada gave her a helpless look from beside him. 

“You broke into my room?” she demanded.

“Of course not.” Still smirking, he flourished his hand and a thin plastic key card appeared in his long fingers. “You dropped this last night. I meant to return it to you today.”

Mindful that everyone was now watching the exchange with anticipation, Mexico felt her face start to burn in embarrassment and frustration. Stalking around the table, she snatched the card out of France’s hand.

“Stay out of my room,” she snapped, “and that flower-”

“Neither gift,” France interrupted, “is from me. The new one,” he added, eyes dancing, “could only have been left for you in the past few minutes. From your admirer, I would presume.”

At the other end of the table, England leaned forward and craned his neck.

“The white one is a hibiscus, which means “Consumed by love.” He paused while considering the other. 

“It is a Peruvian Lily,” France noted while Mexico stood frozen next to him. “There was a note that accompanied it last night.”

With a slight frown, England pulled out his phone and did a quick search. “That’s a fairly new breed,” he commented, thumb flicking through the search results. “But I appears to mean “Devotion.””

Spell broken, Mexico bolted for her seat. Her face felt like it was on fire. Spain patted her hand once she was seated.

“You’ll have to tell Boss all about it!”


	3. Chapter Three

After four hours of discussion, complaining, and yelling about being empathetic, responsive, and having open dialogs with one’s administrative and regional districts, even Germany felt relieved when Spain called for lunch. 

They’d had only a short break earlier for a proper Spanish breakfast -- and even it ended up being a “working” meal taken in the conference room.

“Mexico, let Boss take you out to lunch!” Spain enthused as everyone began packing up their briefcases. “I want to hear all about this secret admirer!” The Spaniard wore his typical smile but even Mexico had to admit his eyes seemed more enthused than they had been of late.

“Someone’s leaving me flowers,” she quickly replied. “There really nothing more to say.”

“Do you have any guesses who your admirer may be?” Spain asked, leaning over the arm of his chair. He glanced at the two flowers sitting in their glass vase. “It’s a rather large vase for just two flowers. Perhaps more are coming,” he teased.

Mexico could feel heat creeping up her face again.

“Idiot bastard, she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Romano cut in. He seized the back of Spain’s shirt and started dragging him, chair and all, away from the North American nation. 

Mexico cast him a grateful look. He winked in response and kept up a vocal tirade as he wheeled Spain out of the room. 

She’d always liked Romano. He had always a pleasant, sympathetic presence throughout her colony days and she’d always enjoyed their conversations when she visited Spain or on the rare occasion he came to Mexico with Spain. 

(She really didn’t understand why others thought him abrasive -- she thought he was hilarious.)

When she finally rose from her seat and turned to circle the table, she discovered Hungary and Malta standing behind her.

“We promise not to be quite so irritating,” Malta proclaimed, a delighted grin on her face.

“But we won’t be gotten rid of so easily,” Hungary continued. The two women exchanged grins and linked their arms through Mexico’s. “We do promise to feed you. And I have fun stories of my own to share once we’re away from the boys.”

\-----

Once the female nations were seated in a boisterous restaurant, Hungary and Malta leaned in gave Mexico expectant looks.

“Like I said,” Mexico stated, voice echoing her determination, “there really isn’t a lot more to say. Thanks to France’s big mouth, you’ve already heard about everything that’s happened.”

“But you know, don’t you,” Malta insisted, folding her arms and leaning in close. “Or at least you have suspicions about the identity of your mystery man.”

“And there’s been no new gossip about North America, so this must be a new relationship!” Hungary exclaimed. Her eyes glowed with an eager light while her fingers tapped a light rhythm on the table. “Really, Mexico, this will stay between us, I promise!”

Mexico gave her a sardonic look. She’d sooner believe pigs could fly then Hungary keep gossip quiet -- especially romantic gossip.

“There’s nothing new going on.” She kept her gaze level, hoping the determined women would believe her so they could move on to a new topic. ‘This,’ she thought, ‘is none of your business and never has been.’ Although, if anyone were to understand . . . 

Hungary’s eyes narrowed. There was more to this than Mexico was admitting.

“Well, I hope you won’t mind if we try to sleuth out the answer,” Malta asked, voice taking on a sly tone.

“Ooh, that will be fun!” With a grin, Hungary began listing off the conference attendees, mentally vowing to pursue Mexico’s unspoken words at a later time.

“It’s certainly not Austria, Denmark, Finland or Sweden, Germany or Veneziano, Romano or Spain, or Lithuania or Poland. They’re all in a relationship already or in denial.”

Malta picked up the thread. 

“It probably isn’t anyone from outside the EU, either,” she added. “Inviting North America was a last minute decision, I think.” She frowned. “Erm, who did invite you?” she asked, turning to Mexico.

The North American shrugged. 

“America, Canada, and I all got the email blast from Spain about the meeting, so here we are.” She considered the matter for a moment. “He may have been piggybacking on an old email thread and just forgot to delete us.”

“Huh. Well,” she continued in a brighter voice, “I doubt anyone else realizes you’re here to that does limit us to the attendees.” She ran her mind through the faces at the morning session. “That leaves us with Belgium, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, France, Czech Republic, Estonia, Slovenia, Cyprus, Greece, Iceland, Latvia, Netherlands, Romania, Slovakia, Luxembourg, Britain, and America.”

“So anyone interesting left?” Hungary gave Mexico an expectant look. “Luxembourg is quite handsome.”

“They’re all obnoxious to one degree or another,” Mexico replied, wrinkling her nose. She let out an aggravated huff. “Look, I just . . . this is personal. And I want to keep it that way. My life is not a source of amusement for other people!”

Hungary and Malta exchanged slightly guilty looks.

“Sorry,” Malta sheepishly replied. “It just that . . . oh, this is so sweet and romantic and exciting!” She let out a happy sigh.

“And takes more of an effort than you’d expect from any of the men,” Hungary noted. “It so rare for any of our kind to go to such lengths -- at any time!”

“So I guess you could say that we’re vicariously living through you,” Malta added. A wistful smile crossed her face. “I’m so jealous . . .”

Mexico sighed as the women’s faces turned dreamy as they imagined receiving such attention from their own significant others. 

“I guess we could talk about this a little more,” she grudgingly admitted.

The other women squealed with delight and the conversation resumed.

\-----

Mexico slumped up against the door to her hotel with a relieved sigh, enjoying the silence and dark of her empty room after the loud, long, and speculation filled lunch. The conversation and meal had ended with just enough time to get back to the hotel, take a few minutes to refresh herself, and retrieve her briefcase before heading back to the conference room.

She usually enjoyed visiting with Hungary and Malta and hearing about all the nonsense and shenanigans their got up to. North America was a calmer place all in all, even with all the squabbles and fights the three countries’ states, provinces, and territories got up to. Hearing about Europe’s constant dysfunction was a delightful source of schadenfreude -- a private soap opera with daily dramatic reveals and schemes.

Being the center of that attention, however, was proving to be . . . a bit stressful.

‘Still,’ she thought as she straightened up and started walking towards the bed. She smiled when she discovered two new sets of pink blooms resting on her suitcase. ‘All in all, I’d say it’s worth it.’


	4. Chapter 4

Refreshed and ready for the afternoon session, Mexico started to make her way from her room to the elevator where she heard voices.

“Just promise me this isn’t some kind of joke,” Spain was saying, “and that she isn’t going to get hurt.”

“Mon ami,” France replied in a reassuring voice, “I may be sworn to silence but I can assure you the intentions behind these gestures is quite real.”

“Ahh, at least give me a hint, amigo!” Spain chuckled. “It’s Boss’s duty to approve suitors.”

Mexico muffled a sigh and resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall. There was that protective streak again. She pressed her back the wall and edged closer to the corner, careful to stay just out of sight.

France continued to chuckle at the Spaniard’s persistence.

“I can say only that I have been asked to help with a grand finale.” France paused, then continued, “It may be that I could be . . . persuaded . . . to share a few details.”

Mexico narrowed her eyes. There was no way in hell she was letting France ruin this. He and Spain both were so blasted persistent though . . .

She whipped around the corner, causing the men to start in surprise. She glanced at the control panel and internally rolled her eyes. They hadn’t even remembered to call the elevator.

“Don’t even think about it, France,” she ordered as she pressed the down arrow.

“Think about what, mon cher?” he asked, voice innocent.

Beside him, Spain chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I think we’ve been caught,” he commented in a sheepish voice. Still chuckling, he moved next to Mexico and wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders. “We meant no harm. Boss just wanted to be sure no one was going to hurt his little girl!”

Mexico stepped to the side and let his arm fall between them. The elevator announced its arrival a moment later with a cheery ‘ding’. Stepping into the elevator car, she turned and folder her arms, giving the men an expectant look.

They were quick to join her, France moving to stand on her right and Spain on her left.

After the doors slide shut, she began to speak, “First, I’m not your anything.” She gave Spain a side-long look. “Second, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Third,” she continued, overruling Spain’s protests, “I . . . appreciate your concern. But it really is okay.” With a soft sigh she looked up at the ceiling. Perhaps it was finally time.

“I suppose,” she mused, still looking up at the ceiling, “certain . . . modifications . . . could be made to any existing plans. Just to stop the rampant speculation, of course.” A sly smile crossed her face as she tilted her head and glanced first at Spain, then France.

The men grinned as they picked up on the growing air of mischief. She was going to enjoy turning the tables on her stealthy admirer.

* * *

 

The meeting was winding down when something tugged Mexico’s skirt. She glanced down, pushing slightly away from the table - Sealand?

The small micronation looked squashed as he hunkered under the table, arms and legs drawn in to keep from hitting any of the legs extending all around him. After looking side-to-side with an air of caution he held out a scrap piece of paper.

Mexico went along with the furtive nature of the delivery and took the paper, pretending she had merely been stretching. Malta gave her a look, glancing down at Sealand and rolling her eyes.

As Germany began to deliver closing remarks, she looked at the note. “I was supposed to sneak this into the vase,” it read, “but you never left your seat!”

Trying not to laugh at the anguish in the small personification’s eyes, she made a small “give me” gesture and felt a long-stemmed, many bloomed flower slide into her grasp.

Sealand gave her a relieved look and disappeared from view, carefully making his way back to his seat next to England.

Malta was shaking with suppressed laughter. The Mediterranean nation leaned forward on the table, stared intently around the nations seated between herself and Hungary, trying to catch the other woman’s eyes to let her know about the silent exchange.

Mexico drew her hand back, peeking at the flower now safely nestled in her lap. Pale pink flowers covered the thick stalk while a few buds just beginning to open at the top. She began to rotate the flower, admiring its delicate blooms while absently listening as Germany continued to speak. Realizing she still held Sealand’s note, she started to drop it on the table only to realize there was an additional note written in a different hand on the other side.

“The Stock flower: You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

Warmth flooded through her. Darling man. And to think the other nations didn’t think him capable of such thoughtfulness.

“And now,” Germany was concluding, “Spain will make our closing remarks.”

Mexico quickly straightened, still hiding the flower in her lap at Spain pushed his chair back and stood up next to her.

“Thank you, Germany,” he began, casting a warm look at the efficient blond, “for your usual thoroughness! This would not have gone so smoothly without you!”

Germany grunted, sparing a dark look for America, still annoyed about having to sit through ‘The Importance of Dialog: What We Can Learn from the Marvel Civil War’”. (America looked wholly unrepentant.)

Spain continued, his smile growing wider. “As I’m sure most of you know, Valentine's Day is this week! I would like to extend an invitation to you and all your loved ones to come and share this special day here at my place tomorrow evening!”

Mexico swept her eyes up and down the table, watching the faces of the other nations as Spain began to describe in detail the party he would be throwing -- a party she had proposed.

The reactions around the room were entertainingly varied -- Austria looked grumpy, Canada oddly thoughtful, Denmark and Hungary were both typing away on their phones, and Veneziano was happily bubbling away at a extra-stoic Germany.

The other end of the table was filled with similarly mixed reactions.

Lithuania seemed unconcerned, Netherlands had gone pale, and Portugal looked thoughtful. Romania was gesturing exaggeratedly at Bulgaria to limited success and Finland was whispering something to Sweden. At the very end of the table, Britain had fixed Spain with a dark stare while America had started up some game or another on his phone, no longer even bothering to pretend to pay attention.

Once Spain had finished speaking, Romano pushed him to the side and took his chair, leaning close to whisper to Mexico.

“You seem more gleeful than you usually are when Spain’s feeling extra social,” he murmured, fixing her with a sharp eyed look.

Mexico couldn’t suppress a smirk and withdrew her hand from under the table to show him the flowers Sealand had delivered.

“Let’s just say,” she replied, “that this party will be a useful . . . opportunity.” She felt a giggle bubbling up in her throat, lips quirking as she tried to push it back down.

Romano snickered, eyes flickering over to Spain, now chatting away with France about the foods and drinks they would purchase or prepare for the party. “I thought this sounded more organized than his usual plans.” He leaned back, tilting his head and gave her a thorough once-over. “We’re going shopping tomorrow,” he concluded, voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re not showing up to the party tomorrow in work clothes and no one else here knows the Spanish stores the way I do.”

“Fine,” Mexico replied. She cast one last look around the now nearly-empty room before carefully adding the Stock flower to the vase still sitting on the table next to her notes. “But before we do anything else, we need to find a florist. I have my own arrangements to make.”


	5. Chapter Five

“Mexico,” Spain called into the house from the front step, “I think these are for you,” he added as he stared at the small stack of boxes that had just been delivered. He couldn’t help but notice the logo of a nearby florist (one of his personal favorites, in fact) and breathed in the sweet scent of fresh flowers. Perhaps this explained why Mexico had been setting empty vases out all around the public areas of the house for the last half hour. Moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see Mexico hurrying over with two more water-filled vases in her arms.

“Just bring those in,” she ordered, dark eyes alight with anticipation and a hint of mischief.

Warmth bubbled up inside him. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d seen his former colony in such a mood. Taking a moment to evaluate the small box tower, Spain began to shift the boxes off the front step and inside the entryway, careful not to crush the one box that was noticeably smaller than the others.

After setting the vases down on the small table he kept at the entryway, Mexico turned and retrieved the small box. Pulling a folding knife from her back pocket, she flipped the blade up and cut through the tape, opening it to reveal a small plastic case with a boutonniere of light pink and small white flowers. This she placed on the table in the space between the vases and gave it a satisfied pat.

“Those are different from the ones you received,” Spain commented once he’d gotten a good look at the boutonniere, angling the first of the long boxes towards her. “Do these have a message as well?” He asked in a hopeful voice. Mexico playing along with her secret admirerer had to be a promising sign.

Hands faltering for a moment, Mexico glanced up, cheeks darkening with a hint of embarrassment. “They do have a message,” she answered in a stiff voice, “but you’ll have to look that up yourself.” She quickly bent down to hide how her face was continuing to flush and pulled two of the long boxes closer to her, cutting through the tape to reveal matching bouquets made up of the blooms she had both received and chosen for the boutonniere. These she carefully lifted one at a time, cutting away the rubber band holding the bunch together, and transferring them to the vases. “The others go in the vases I’ve set out,” she instructed as she squatted back down to fold the boxes back up.

“I’ll be happy to help you arrange them,” Spain replied with an encouraging smile. He started piling the boxes so they would be easier to carry. “You can tell me more about the flowers while we work!” he added.

“She’s busy, idiot,” Romano’s voice suddenly growled. Startled, Spain and Mexico looked over towards the stairs. The Italian gave them a pointed look as he descended. “Get Prussia to help. He’s just lazing around,” he added, jerking his head towards the kitchen where Prussia’s distinct laughter could be heard.

Mexico tried not to laugh. Spain looked utterly defeated. He’d probably been planning on further interrogating her about the flowers and Romano had decided to deny him that opportunity. As Spain disappeared into the kitchen to fetch Prussia, she turned to Romano and raised an eyebrow.

“People are supposed to arrive in an hour,” the Italian replied to her wordless prompting.

“Hmm, so they are.” Mexico looked down at her watch and mentally ran through her party usual preparations. “Well,” she continued as she looked back up, “given that Spain’s now, ah, tied up with things-”

A loud crash came from the kitchen followed by a chorus of shouting in French and Spanish.

“Definitely time to disappear,” Romano agreed.

As the pair quickly climbed the stairs, Mexico slid her arm through Romano’s and she gave him a sly look. “Good thing we’ll have plenty of time to talk about how your own plans are going,” she reflected in a pleasant voice.

* * *

Spain flung the door open, beaming as the party picked up speed further into the house. On the step, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Netherlands stood on the stoop all smiles (Belgium and Luxembourg) and a blank, stoic stare (Netherlands).

“Sounds like everything’s going quite well,” Belgium enthused as Spain stepped to the side and waved them in. “Ooh,” she cooed as she spotted the small display of flowers Mexico had arranged. “This looks special,” she added. Her eyes were alight with curiosity and she gave Spain an expectant look.

Luxembourg stepped past Belgium and picked up the small plastic box with the delicate looking boutonniere, glancing over at Spain as he did so. “Any idea who this is for?” he asked, eyes filled with a matching light. “There’s no name.”

Netherlands snorted and took the box out of Luxembourg’s hands, gesturing for them to continue into the house. “Leave it be,” he scolded. He gave the box a narrow look before setting it down gingerly. “We may as well go in,” he continued, “I’m sure Spain spent quite a lot on this event, after all. It would be rude to linger.”

Belgium laughed then turned to Spain, grasping his arm and steering him towards the gathered nations. “The flowers are lovely,” she began, “who picked them? They seem quite familiar.”

“Ah, Mexico did,” Spain began as they entered the large living room.

Spotting the newcomers, Hungary quickly broke away from where she had been chatting with Italy and hurried over.

“Did you see the flowers,” Hungary asked in a breathless voice, “Spain won’t say anything except Mexico picked them. And she’s still upstairs with Romano, so no one’s been able to ask her about them!”

“It’s all so romantic,” Belgium sighed. “I don’t understand why more nations aren’t so sweet.”

“You have to have some opinion on the matter, Spain,” Hungary insisted as she looked at him. “She was your colony, after all, and someone’s sending her mysterious flowers? With such sweet meanings?”

Spain merely laughed and shook his head. “As long as she’s happy, I’m happy,” he replied. His eyes took on a fierce light. “And anyone who breaks her heart will answer to me.”

* * *

As he carefully pinned the boutonniere to his jacket, Mexico’s admirer suppressed a chuckle at how she was getting back at him. He’d double-checked the meanings before taking the box and they were quite fitting. He could almost hear how she’d probably cackled when she realized she could use pink blooms to send her reply to his declarations:

_Peach blossom -- I am your captive._

_Arbutus -- Thee only do I love._

Carefully skirting the cheery nations laughing and drinking in the other room, he found his way to the back of the house and the old servants staircase. He’d never really gone in for that kind of extravagance himself but it did come in handy in times such as these.

He patted the box hidden under his jacket. He had a final gift for Mexico before they joined the others, one he was hopeful she would accept.

* * *

Finally deciding to give up on her hair for the moment, Mexico let the long, dark wavy curls cascade across her shoulders. She threw herself down on the bed next to Romano, who gave her an irritated look as if the movement of the mattress disturbed his brief nap.

“How long are we going to lurk up here?” he groaned, flopping onto his side. “The Potato-bastard could be doing God knows what to Feliciano while we’re hiding.”

She rolled her eyes. “Germany isn’t going to do anything to your brother that he doesn’t want. And probably not even that.”

“He proposed once!”

“Because he’s an idiot when it comes to emotions.” Mexico snorted and flopped onto her back, stretching her arms over her head. “He proposed because he thought Feliciano asked him to, your brother promptly freaked out, and Germany hid in his house for the next four months out of sheer embarrassment. Even if he decides he wants something more, he’s not going to make the first move again. Your brother’s virtue is safe.” She fell silent for a moment. “And we’re not hiding,” she added. “We’re waiting.”

Romano glared, half-torn between the desire to go and protect his more innocent and trusting brother and his own preference to avoid the excessive sappiness that was rapidly filling the lower floor of the house.

“Waiting for what?” he demanded, only to be interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

Mexico smirked and pushed herself upright.

Grumbling under his breath, Romano rolled off the bed and stalked over to the door, flinging it open to reveal America and Canada, who was busy adjusting the boutonniere pinned to his brother’s coat.

Romano looked over his shoulder at Mexico. “Do you want to see them or should I throw them out?”

“Let them in,” she replied, amused by the Italian’s protective instincts. “Thanks for waiting with me.”

After stepping to one side to allow the other North Americans into the room, Romano gave her a brief nod and disappeared, no doubt off to find Spain and make sure Germany hadn’t suddenly manifested any unwholesome desires towards his brother.

Canada shut the door with a soft click.

America looked at her, a faint blush spreading across his tanned cheeks as he took in her fitted red scoop-necked shirt and elegantly ruffled grey skirt. He gave her a goofy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied with an answering smile. “Thank you for the flowers.” She crooked a finger for him to come closer, then deliver a swift kick to his shin once it was in reach, leaving him yelping and hopping on one leg as he clutched at the bruised limb. “You enlisted Sealand? Really? I’m surprised you didn’t get the other micronations involved so you could be even more dramatic about it.”

Rubbing his leg one last time, America shook his head and chuckled, dropped down onto the bed next to her while pulling a small plastic box out from his jacket and offering it to her.

Mexico snickered where she saw the single yellow flower, it’s stem trimmed so it could be easily pinned to her hair. “I think we found the same florist,” she mused as she careful tore the logo on the seal and opened the box. “It would explain why he kept chuckling when I spoke with him yesterday. What’s this one?” She asked, fingers lightly skimming across the delicate white petals.

Canada reached over and took the flower from her, gesturing for her to sit in front of the small vanity.

“Lemon blossom,” America replied, watching happily as his brother put his French blood to use arranging her hair into an simple twist that would showcase the flower. “Fidelity in love, I promise to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, the blush returning with greater force.

Mexico could feel her own cheeks heating up at his quiet declaration. Even after so many years, he still took her by surprise.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Canada declared in a dry voice.

“Just because your boyfriend has the emotion range of a fish doesn’t mean you get to make fun,” Mexico retorted, eyes narrowing as the northern nation continued his quick, efficient work.

“I’m not making fun,” Canada replied, grinning at her in the mirror. “I’m stating fact.” After tucking a few more hairpins into place, Canada gave her dark hair a critical look before stepping back.

The white and yellow accented flower peeped out from the twist he’d arranged her part of her hair into, a light touch that accented the dark hair that flowed down her back.

“That looks amazing,” Mexico breathed as Canada handed her a small hand mirror so she could see the back. “It’s nice to see France’s blood come in handy for once.”

“That is hard,” America commented, smoothly picking up on the playful line of attack Mexico has opened.

Canada gave them both a narrowed-eyed look that promised swift retaliation once they were back on their own continent. After several long moments of silence, he put forth the question that had been lurking on his mind since the start of the conference. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, brow furrowing with concern. “Letting the other nations know about this?”

America nodded. “We’ve been talking about it for a while.”

“We hadn’t picked a specific date,” Mexico gave America a sidelong look as she turned in her seat to better face Canada, “but given how tense things have been of late, we thought it would be good to remind everyone that we are not solely driven by politics.”

“And with how complicated the politics between our countries has become,” America continued, “it makes sense for us to show everyone that we don’t have to let public opinion, real or perceived, dictate our personal relationships.”

“Well,” Canada commented after letting his neighbors’ words sink in, “if nothing else, the story of how you two got together is sure to provide several months worth of entertainment.” He grinned again as America went bright red.

“No,” he brother snapped, eyes flashing with a dangerous light, “you are not telling the story,” he ordered.

“Oh, I am so telling the story,” Canada taunted. He dove to one side as America sprang off the bed and lunged at him. “You promised, all those years ago, that I’d be one who got to tell the story.”

“You-” America shook a finger at Canada, then let out a strangled, helpless sound as he gave Mexico a pleading look.

“It is pretty funny,” Mexico admitted with a sheepish look. She turned back to the mirror for a moment, admiring her hair once more before rising and crossing over to Canada where he lurked near the door. “Thank you for doing my hair.” Raising up onto her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. “And wait until we get down there to tell the story,” she added, pulling back with a grin. “I want to be there for that.”

“I’m surrounded by traitors,” America muttered. dropping back onto the bed with a mournful sigh.

“I’m not a traitor, I’m your wife,” Mexico scolded. She took half a step back and reached out to straighten the dark tie Canada wore with a simple vest and a pinstriped white shirt. “There, now go find Tulip-boy and embarrass him in front of his family. You know he’s waiting to get that over with.”

Canada laughed and returned Mexico’s kiss before leaving.

Mexico turned and picked up the red-soled pumps she and Romano had found, reaching out for America to help her balance as she slid them on.

“You look beautiful,” America stated in a soft voice, wrapping his arms around her once she had her new heels on.

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself,” Mexico responded as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hands brushing over the sports coat he wore over a red-checked shirt and black vest and tie.

Tipping his head down, America kissed her long and hard, lingering over her lips with a silent promise of more to come. As he stepped back, she slid her arm through his.

“Shall we?” she asked.

America grinned.

* * *

As dawn approached hours later, the party was finally starting to wind down. America and Mexico’s descent downstairs had been met with a delightful mix of surprise and “I knew all along!” from several corners.

“You’re very naughty,” Hungary scolded Mexico, swaying slightly from all the excellent wine Spain had served. “You still haven’t told us how you got together,” she added.

Mexico snickered and glanced up at America’s blushing face. “Ask Canada,” she replied. “He called dibs on telling the story ages ago.” She leaned further against America, just to make sure he didn’t try to run away.

Hearing his name (a rarity in Europe), Canada wandered over dragging Netherlands behind him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Tell the story,” Hungary ordered. “Mexico won’t and America’s gone bright red. We need to hear this,” she insisted.

Canada laughed, a large, warm sound that quickly caught the attention of all the other nations still present. “Well,” he began, drawing out the sensation of being the complete center of attention for once. “It began just over a century and a half ago . . .”

* * *

_Mexico City, Mexico, March 6, 1848_

Mexico continued to make her way through her occupied capital city, winding through the streets until she finally arrived at the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe where the treaty had been signed a month before.

Her hands balled into fists as she lifted her skirts to walk up the short flight of stairs leading into the old church. Her collapsed government had yet to vote on the treaty and she just knew that America’s government would never ratify it, no matter what Trist, the American negotiator, claimed. Too many of his people had spoken out against the war and too many others were clamoring to take more or all of her country. With most of her major cities occupied, the only logical conclusion she could see was complete annexation. She’d paid close attention to Spain’s lessons before she won her independence. She knew how greedy and intractable an occupying nation could be.

The only thing she could do now was find some way to protect her people. She’d hoped the original disagreements over Téjas (Texas now, damn it, why had she changed her name?!) and the practice of slavery would provoke a civil war in her northern neighbor. She’d ended up with a war in her own home instead. Even her guerilla fighters had been unable to dislodge the entrenched American forces.

Mexico stared at the closed wooden doors. He was inside. He seemed to like coming here, where the damned treaty had been signed. Here, away from Trist, Generals Scott and Herrera, and the Dons who represented what was left of her government . . . with only God and the priests and nuns inside to stand witness, she would do what was necessary to protect her people.

As she pushed the doors open, she saw him. He was sitting in a pew, leaning back and looking at the high vaulted ceiling, the Lady of Guadalupe looking down on him from behind the altar. America turned as she walked into the church, watching as she approached, drawing closer and closer.

Years later, she laughed when she learned what he’d been thinking, why he’d kept coming to the church. Canada had collapsed onto a couch when she told him, clutching his sides as he howled with laughter even as his brother stomped out of the room.

She had come to him in that church, on the very day the negotiators, unbeknownst to their national representatives at the time, agreed to a full truce and an end to the guerrilla warfare that had been plaguing the American forces as they moved in and out of the city while they awaited the final ratification of the treaty.

She came to him and proposed a union to help them both -- protection for him from the critics she believed would destroy the treaty (could they really say she had been conquered if she stood by his side as his equal?) and a way for her to continued to protect and serve her people.

And America . . . his mind was fretting over only vaguely (and poorly) remembered lessons about how their kind cemented alliances and treaties. About the unspoken expectations that must have driven the decision to use a _church_ as the site for the signing of the treaty.

As Mexico spoke, America felt his breath catch at her passion. At her authority. Even when so overcome, she had power and strength unlike anyone else he knew.

Once she had concluded, he rose and extended a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped it and he bowed over her hand, pressing a courteous kiss to the hand tucked into his.

“I accept.”

* * *

_Author notes:_

This was fun, frustrating, and a huge challenge to write. Valentine’s Day inspired me to try and write one of my romance-based headcanons and, all in all, I think it came out okay.

This is the very first time I’ve ever written a pure romance story and it was insanely hard! I’m lucky enough to have a genre expert amongst my circle of friends and she happily consulted on the overall flow of the story and helped me put all the pieces together. I couldn’t have done it without her.

This is also the very first time I’ve ever tried to write Mexico. I’m still trying to pin down her voice but overall I’m pleased with how she came out.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my little work!


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